The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

doesn’t mean that they don’t like us,” Honey said. “They’re probably just in a hurry to get to their jobs.”
    “Honey, you’d defend a snake if it bit you,” chuckled Jim. Before Honey could protest, he went on, “Well, I don’t care where we are. I think we. should get off at the next station. I’m getting homesick for daylight. I’m not used to traveling underground.”
    The next station, according to the sign on the gleaming white tile wall, turned out to be Baker Street. The other Bob-Whites gladly agreed to troop up the steps to the bright summer sunshine.
    “The air in this part of London seems cleaner than it was where we started out this morning,” said Honey as they strolled down the street.
    “London is a pretty gritty city,” Trixie agreed. “Grit’s nothing more than a few infinitesimal, barely palpable particles of unknown substances,” said Mart, well-known for his love of words.
    Trixie snorted inelegantly.
    “I like Trixie’s version better,” Jim decided. “Not only does she get right down to the nitty-gritty, but she also rhymes.”
    They still hadn’t figured out where they were. It was a fairly quiet street, and there wasn’t much traffic, so they paused on a corner.
    “This has got to be the biggest city in the whole world,” Trixie groaned. “My feet are killing me.”
    “Sixth largest,” Mart said smugly. “Shanghai is number one, with eleven million people. I’d say that’s just a tad bigger than Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson.”
    “Mart Belden, you’re a human almanac!” exclaimed Honey. “I suppose you know the population of London, too?”
    “I believe it’s over seven million—that’s if you’re talking about Greater London. You have to understand that London is a city within a city,” Mart explained earnestly. Not only had he found more time to read up on the trip than the others had, but he also had a phenomenal memory, much as Trixie hated to admit it sometimes.
    “The oldest section in the central part is called the City of London, and it’s only one square mile in area,” Mart went on. “In the Middle Ages, it was walled in, like a fortress. The central part of the city, which is about ten square miles, is still the busiest section. It’s surrounded by Greater London, which is around seven hundred square miles in area, including all the suburbs. But most of the sights we want to see are in the central part, on or near the banks of the Thames River: the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s Cathedral—even Scotland Yard!”
    “If you know so much about London,” Jim teased, “then tell us where we are at the moment!”
    “We’re on Mary-le-bone Road,” Trixie said, reading haltingly off a street sign.
    “That’s pronounced Mar-li-bone,” Jim said. “I’ve figured out how to pronounce all those long English words, like Worcestershire—that’s Woost' rshr—and Leicester is Lest’ r. You just come on strong with the first syllable, and swallow the rest.”
    Marylebone Road seemed to stretch a long way across the city map Honey was poring over. The map didn’t help that much, except to confirm their gloomy suspicions that they were not headed for the Tower of London, which they had planned to see that morning.
    “You must be sure to go to the Tower and see the crown jewels,” Miss Trask had told them. “That will give you a place to start in tracing the necklace.”
    Trixie was beginning to wish that Miss Trask was spending the day with them instead of doing research. Always efficient, always a good sport, she was the Bob-Whites’ favorite person to travel with. She had previously been Honey’s governess but was presently the manager of the entire Wheeler estate, in which capacity she could do anything from arranging banquets to starting stalled station wagons. Besides herself, she supported her invalid sister with the salary she earned at the Wheelers’.
    No one knew how old Miss Trask was. She never let on. She was attractive in a brisk, trim way, with her bright blue eyes and short, silver-gray hair. She always dressed sensibly but well, in tailored suits and sturdy shoes. Sometimes the Bob-Whites liked to tease her about a romantic interest. For example, Mr. Lytell, who ran a general store near Manor House, often seemed to feel more than just a high regard for Miss Trask. Her response to such teasing was always a calm smile that revealed absolutely nothing,